


A Good Omen

by topleaf



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Just two idiots being idiots and dancing around their feelings as usual, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topleaf/pseuds/topleaf
Summary: "I do believe the worst is behind us,” Bilbo sighed in relief.Thorin didn’t tear his eyes away from the hobbit's face for a long while. Bilbo looked out at the Lonely Mountain as if it were his own home. His smiling face glowed with hope, his crystal blue eyes shining in the light of the sunrise.No one dared to remind the poor hobbit that the worst was yet to come. Thorin secretly vowed to himself to trust the burglar to hold his own from now on; but he also vowed to make sure nothing ever hurt him. So much for not being responsible for his fate.A little scene that I imagine taking place after The Hug.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95





	A Good Omen

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago after watching AUJ. Purely self-indulgent, just a little slice-of-life during the Quest, wondering what would be going through Bilbo and Thorin's minds after The Hug. Just posting in case anyone might enjoy it, because we always need more Bagginshield in our lives <3

"I do believe the worst is behind us,” Bilbo sighed in relief.

Thorin didn’t tear his eyes away from the hobbit's face for a long while. Bilbo looked out at the Lonely Mountain as if it were his own home. His smiling face glowed with hope, his crystal blue eyes shining in the light of the sunrise.

No one dared to remind the poor hobbit that the worst was yet to come. Thorin secretly vowed to himself to trust the burglar to hold his own from now on; but he also vowed to make sure nothing ever hurt him. _So much for not being responsible for his fate._ Azog would be hot on their trail soon enough, and Bilbo seemed to have forgotten that a dragon was lying about in that mountain. It made Thorin’s stomach turn, the thought of that piece of filth rolling about in all his gold.

“Come. We must move on,” Thorin commanded, snapping back to reality as the urgency of the quest rushed back to him. “Azog still lives, we must move while-”

  
Thorin winced in pain from the wounds that punctured his torso; Fíli hurried to his uncle’s side and Óin pushed through the crowd to get to Thorin. Thorin was waving Fíli away, refusing any help.

“We’ll find shelter. We haven’t had a proper rest in days, and you’re still injured,” Óin scolded.

“I’m fine,” Thorin grumbled, but as the adrenaline faded away, he could feel the searing pain where Azog’s mangy pet had sunk its teeth into.

“Óin is right. Follow me, we’ll find shelter in the forest below,” Gandalf instructed.

Thorin glowered up at him, and then shifted his glare to Óin, who clutched his arm as they walked. He cursed himself for being so impulsive, trying to go after that orc scum on his own when he had a clear disadvantage. Maybe Gandalf should have let them know there were eagles coming to rescue them. _Secretive wizard._

Gandalf beckoned Bilbo to walk by his side, and Thorin watched as Bilbo hurried past him and Óin. The hobbit glanced back at Thorin worriedly before Gandalf placed his arm around him and took his attention away as they spoke in hushed tones.

Thorin’s stomach twisted a little, a tickling feeling very different from when he felt sick thinking about Smaug or Azog. He stared at the back of Bilbo’s head, his honey curls, the delicate frame of his shoulders, the way his height barely reached Gandalf’s hip. His cute, round-

“Make haste, everyone,” Óin bellowed. “Thorin’s begun bleeding from his wounds.”

Óin pressed a cloth to Thorin’s abdomen, where fresh blood seeped through. Thorin kept his eyes forward and focused on his concerned nephews until they reached the woods.

Gandalf led them down the cliff and into yet another forest, where there was a clearing littered with remnants of old ruined buildings and a deep cave. Dwalin, Kíli, and Glóin went inside the cave to scout things out—a good idea, because they found a small pack of wolves inside. They made quick work of them and carried them right out into the clearing, dropping them near Bilbo’s feet.

“Supper!” Dwalin exclaimed, and all the dwarves cheered.

Bilbo grimaced and moved to stand behind Gandalf, horrified by the sight and smell. They began to gut and skin them, so he followed Gandalf to a spot inside the cave where several of the dwarves laid their weapons down and set up bedrolls.

Fili and Óin brought Thorin into the cave and everyone worked to make a comfortable spot for him. Bilbo watched, his mouth dry with worry. Thorin didn’t look well at all; he had been so distracted by Thorin’s hug that he had almost forgotten watching the Pale Orc drive his mace into his chest, and the warg sink his teeth into—Bilbo felt a bit faint all of a sudden.

Thorin unbuckled his weapons belt and removed his bracers. Fíli helped him remove his furs and hastily untied him out of his armor.

“Thank you, Fíli,” Thorin said quietly, dismissing his nephew as all that was left on Thorin’s upper body was his dark blue tunic; it was soaked in blood.

Thorin’s blue eyes met with Bilbo’s, and the hobbit quickly shot his gaze downward as he realized he’d been staring. Not because the dwarf was getting undressed, no, of course not, he had been staring because of the blood and he was both horrified and worried and—

Bilbo’s eyes fluttered back up to see that Thorin’s tunic was gone. His upper body looked how Bilbo imagined it would look—not that he had imagined it before, of course—strong, powerful, muscular. His middle was thick, but not in the same way Bilbo’s was. Dark hair covered his chest and became sparser as it went lower, leading a trail that revealed thicker hair near his—

Good gracious, Bilbo Baggins, stop staring! Bilbo felt himself blushing and he stared at the fire that Bofur was starting in the middle of the cave.

Were those tattoos on Thorin’s upper right arm and shoulder? And on his rib cage, right underneath his breast which he may or may not have seen a silver glint on his—

“I need some air,” Bilbo squeaked to Gandalf, and hurried out of the cave.

Gandalf and Bofur looked at each other and snickered knowingly.

Thorin watched the hobbit scurry out of the cave, avoiding eye contact. Of course he was repulsed by the sight of Thorin’s wounds. He sighed heavily. If Master Baggins was a dwarf, he might’ve found Thorin’s bloody, sweaty, scarred appearance appealing. Just another reminder why Thorin would need to smother his burgeoning feelings for the hobbit and abandon any hope of his burglar returning them.

“The rest of the company aren’t hurt?” Thorin asked Óin.

“Not as badly as you,” Óin replied, beginning to clean Thorin’s wounds. “Some will be sore from holding onto that damned tree, such as I, or being singed by the fire, but it seems everyone managed not to get themselves hurt in the short battle.”

Thorin winced and balled his fists together, digging them into the cold dirt to avoid lurching away as his wounds stung when Óin applied medicine.

“Ya fought well, Thorin,” Bofur chimed in from the now burning fire. “I mean, ya did get yerself bashed up. And the stinker did take ya down pretty fast. But ya did what ya could.”

“Not helpful, Bofur,” Thorin grumbled.

“It’s probably best if we don’t speak unless spoken to, laddie,” Óin said to Bofur.

Thorin was looking out at the cave’s exit. He saw Bombur showing Bilbo how to help him cook the wolf meat, Bilbo nodding and probably doing his best not to vomit at the sight of the raw bloody meat on the spit. Thorin felt jealous, wishing the hobbit’s attention would be on him instead. Alas, the burglar had probably looked at Thorin’s body the same way he looked at that hunk of meat. He felt a strong desire to take a bath.

Bilbo had quite lost his appetite after helping Bombur prepare the stew. He didn't much fancy eating...wolves. Especially after all the nasty business with the wargs. He went for a walk to try and work it back up, Balin accompanying him.

When they came back to camp, Bombur was serving the stew and the smell was delightful. Bilbo’s stomach growled and he politely waited his turn to receive his bowl. Bombur held out two bowls to him and Balin.

“Here, take this one to Thorin,” Balin said, giving him a little pat on the back.

Bilbo nodded and felt his heart race as he approached the cave. _Oh, confound it all, Bilbo Baggins, you're not a tween! He's injured and you need to take care of him!_

Thorin was still leaning back against the cave wall, cleaning Orcrist. His chest was bare but wrapped in bandages, and he had his furs draped around his shoulders. He peered up at Bilbo once he approached.

“Here, have some stew,” Bilbo said, handing him his bowl.

“Thank you,” Thorin replied, his deep voice softer than he'd ever heard it. It made Bilbo’s heart race even faster.

Bilbo nodded at him and fought between whether it was polite to stay or go. Thorin liked being alone most of the time, so he thought it best to leave him.

“Wait, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo spun around, fumbling with his bowl of stew that almost spilled.

“Come, take a seat,” Thorin said with a rather commanding tone.

Right. Bilbo plunked his butt down beside Thorin. It might take a while for him to get used to Thorin actually speaking to him.

“The orcs,” Thorin started, his voice soft again. “They didn’t hurt you at all?”

“No,” Bilbo replied with a smile. “I’m not sure how I managed that, but I did. My luck is probably all used up, I’m afraid.”

“I hope that’s not the case,” Thorin said, his voice wavering. He cleared his throat. “It would be a shame to lose our burglar, who’s proven himself to be very useful.”

  
Bilbo gave him another quick smile, then took a bite of his stew to avoid looking into Thorin’s blue eyes for too long. Of course, he was only a burglar to Thorin. That was his purpose here. Still, he was happy to finally have Thorin’s approval, even if it did take almost dying to win it.

Thorin was too busy studying every little twitch and movement in the hobbit’s face. Had he said something wrong? Had he been too obvious, or unclear? Did he sound too blunt? Too cold?

“Thorin,” Bilbo said. “Please, you should eat.”

Right. Stew. Thorin forced himself to have a spoonful.

After a short silence, Bilbo asked, “How are you feeling? Does it hurt?”

Something about the hobbit's worried tone made Thorin get that tickling feeling in his stomach again. He decided to try something. “I’m in quite a bit of pain, I admit.”

Bilbo blinked up at him with those bright blue eyes. “Shall I fetch Oin? Or should I force you to lay down? You should finish your stew first!”

Thorin stifled a grin, failing miserably. “Alright, Master Baggins.”

He continued to eat the stew, watching Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. It was difficult to fight the urge to wrap the hobbit up in his furs, and hold his head against his chest. _Oh for Durin’s sake_ , what had happened to him?

Thorin watched as Bilbo fiddled with something on his red waistcoat. He noticed that the brass buttons that Bilbo had been so fussy with keeping sewed on during the beginning of the quest were now gone. They left awkward holes with bits of string hanging from them.

“What happened to your buttons?” Thorin asked, a slight condescending tone dancing on his tongue.

Bilbo seemed quite flustered by the question, dusting off his waistcoat and grabbing the spoon in his stew instead. “They fell out while I escaped the goblin tunnels. I s’pose I’ll get them replaced someday.”

Thorin’s mind immediately went to how he would find—no, _make_ —buttons made of gold and emerald once he reclaimed Erebor.

“Ask Dori and Ori to make something for you. The two of them are skilled in sewing and designing garments.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I’d like that, although clothing made by dwarves may not suit my taste.”

Thorin smirked secretly as he finished his stew, the image of Bilbo wearing Thorin’s clothes flashing across his imagination. He’d be swimming in it, but he’d feel safe and warm, and would fall asleep resting his soft cheek against his furs.

Bilbo had to suppress a laugh as he imagined Thorin trying to wear hobbit fashion. The strong, _very important_ dwarf, popping out of a green vest and brown trousers, one suspender hanging off his shoulder, his feet so hairy he could braid it and adorn it with the same beads he wore in his hair. _Oh my, Bilbo Baggins, you have quite the colourful imagination today._ He finished his stew, wishing there was more, and offered to take Thorin’s bowl back to Bombur.

 _Don’t stay away long_ , Thorin wanted to say. But he simply nodded in thanks and watched the hobbit leave. He was fixated on his large furry feet, barely making a sound when they padded against the ground. Perfect burglar material. He wondered if hobbits had sensitive feet like dwarves. Thorin stared into the fire and decided to finally lie down and let sleep overtake him. Gandalf wanted them to leave at first light the next day and travel until the following morning.

Maybe Bilbo was right. Maybe the worst was behind them. For Thorin wondered if maybe Bilbo Baggins was meant to help guide him home after all.


End file.
